


More Than You Can Measure

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: During Canon, Established Relationship, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-29
Updated: 2007-05-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 20:26:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8728933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: "Dean finds the tickets at the bottom of the tape box when he's digging for And Justice for All. He's glowering, muttering darkly under his breath about pain-in-the-ass little brothers who can't keep their hands off his stuff, but then he says, 'What the hell is this?' And then his breath catches and he stops talking."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**More Than You Can Measure**  
(Sam/Dean, 1,099 words)  
  
**Notes:** A rambling, unfocused, and not really storylike bit of DTTE-verse, expanding on [ this](http://esorlehcar.livejournal.com/439602.html#bday) from the utterly crack-addled Q&As, for [ ](http://nymeria.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://nymeria.livejournal.com/)**nymeria**. Happy birthday, Kyra, honey. This is probably not quite what you had in mind, but it's the best I could do with what you wanted. Just be glad it's not Jensen/Chad.  
  
  
Dean finds the tickets at the bottom of the tape box when he's digging for _And Justice for All_. He's glowering, muttering darkly under his breath about pain-in-the-ass little brothers who can't keep their hands off his stuff, but then he says, "What the hell is this?" And then his breath catches and he stops talking.   
  
Sam grins, watching his brother instead of the road, and for once Dean doesn't bitch about that; he just looks from the tickets to Sam and back again, face sliding from confusion to disbelief to simple delight as he reads the small print. "You did this?" he says, and Sam laughs.  
  
"Still think I'm a pain in the ass?"  
  
"Whatever," Dean says. He's not smiling, but it's clearly a struggle, and his eyes are shining so brightly it makes Sam's chest ache. "You're pretty freaking annoying."  
  
"It's not till April," Sam says. "I may change my mind before then."  
  
"I'm not taking _you_ ," Dean says. "I'm gonna find some hot blonde bitch to flash her tits at the roadies and get me backstage." Sam just looks at him, and Dean sighs. "Pull over."  
  
Sam blinks. "Huh?"  
  
"Pull over, asshat, I wanna drive."  
  
"That's seriously all you're going to say."   
  
Dean smiles, wide and bright. "Sammy," he says. His voice is pitched low, full of heated promise, and Sam shivers before he can stop himself. Dean smiles wider. "Where's my cake, bitch?"  
  
He forgives Dean when Dean sucks his brain out through his dick before claiming the driver's seat, but it's a close thing.  
  
***  
  
It's not the worst day ever. It's unseasonably cold, gray and drizzly, they're surrounded by pimply boys with mullets and girls with raccoon eyes and barely-there skirts who keep shooting Dean looks of unsubtle invitation, and that's not even counting the godawful music or middle-aged men in black leather and pink lipstick singing it. But Dean spends the afternoon, all six endless hours, looking like he's died and gone to heaven, he damned near comes in his pants when Metallica takes the stage, and when the band leaves after a second encore, he turns to Sam, face a study in bliss, and kisses him hard while the crowd thunders around them.   
  
It takes a half an hour to get out of the parking lot and another forty minutes to get back to the motel. They barely make it.  
  
***  
  
It's at least four hours before they come up for air. Sam flops down hard on top of his brother, dick still twitching inside him, feeling like the top of his head has been blown off. The air is thick, sticky with lube and sweat and come.  
  
Dean says, "Fuuuuuuck," and Sam rolls off him, and then they both just breathe for awhile, lying beside each other on sheets ripped half off the bed. When he's able to move again, he turns and fits himself against Dean, his head onto his chest. Dean's heart is still pounding hard, and he's practically radiating contentment, making a soft noise deep in his throat that's so close to purring Sam is going to have mocking fodder for _years_. As soon as he remembers how to talk.  
  
He's too far gone to feel the chill of the room until Dean shivers beneath him. He gropes for a blanket, finds one hanging off the foot of the bed and draws it around them, and Dean sighs. "Need t'sleep, Sammy," he mumbles. "Fuck later."  
  
It should be funny -- there's no way either one of them is going to get it up again without at least eight hours of sleep and half a cow on a bun -- but hearing Dean, raw, exhausted, covered in come and still wanting more sends a shiver through him that has nothing to do with the cold. He presses his face into Dean's neck, nuzzles lightly at the sweatslick skin, and lets the dark take him.  
  
***  
  
Pre-dawn light is straining through the frayed curtains by the time he wakes. Sam's starving, the bed is a wreck around them, he can feel dried come across his belly and thighs, and Dean is snoring softly besides him. He's never felt better. He rolls onto his side, slips a hand between Dean's legs and rubs at his swollen hole.   
  
Dean groans, mutters something that might have been "Go away."   
  
"It's later," Sam says, and the soft wet noise when he slides two fingers inside is the most obscene thing he's ever heard. He slips lower, under the blankets, grins at Dean's cock slumping against his thigh, too worn out for morning wood, and presses his fingers further in.   
  
It's a sign of just how fucked out Dean is that his dick doesn't so much as twitch. " _Sleeping_ ," he says.  
  
Sam ignores him, sucks the head into his mouth while Dean bats ineffectually at him. He's never had Dean's cock in his mouth fully soft before, and he kind of likes it, relearning territory that's intimately familiar and still new. He rubs his tongue against Dean's cockhead and then licks along the shaft, pulling Dean further in, marveling at the way he can take the whole thing without struggling.  
  
"Not gonna work," Dean says roughly. Sam sucks harder, and Dean wraps a hand around the back of his head, fingers carding lightly through his hair. "You killed it."  
  
Sam pulls back, letting Dean's cock slip from his mouth with a wet _pop_ that echoes in the quiet room. "You're so _old_ ," he says, and Dean snorts, though it morphs into a gasp as Sam pulls his fingers free. Sam grins, and Dean rolls his eyes.  
  
"Not happening," he says. "You really wanna be helpful, go get me some breakfast."  
  
"Six hours of hair metal, and now you won't put out?"   
  
Dean cuffs him, not gently. "Metallica isn't hair metal."  
  
"Six hours, Dean." Dean just raises an eyebrow, and Sam sighs, but he disentangles himself and climbs out of bed. "I'm getting you _fruit_ ," he says. "And a decaf, soy-milk latte."  
  
"Pussy," Dean says. He's already settled back down, pulled the covers more tightly around himself, but he watches Sam as he pulls clothes on, a tiny smile on his face, and Sam can't help but smile back.  
  
"Good birthday present?" he says, going for nonchalant and almost making it.  
  
Dean just rolls his eyes, and Sam sighs again and heads for the door. He's halfway out when Dean says, "Hey, Sammy?" and he turns, face already twisting into a grin.  
  
"Get me something fried," Dean says firmly, and disappears under the covers again.   
  
  
****  
 


End file.
